Faith (20 page)

Thirty

T
he study was silent, save for the ticking of the large clock on the mantel. Gareth glanced at it and threw his fountain pen onto the desk in disgust. The minute hand had only advanced five minutes since he’d last checked.

It wasn’t that he had nothing to do. On the contrary, it was becoming increasingly evident he would have to hire a secretary to handle the more mundane matters, like keeping track of his correspondence. He’d already handed over the day-to-day running of the estate to his steward, and household matters to Mrs. MacAvoy. That left only his more complicated business investments, which occupied almost all of his time. The running of these investments was difficult, seeing as he’d been at Rothmere for merely a month. He was going to have to make a trip to London soon, if only to meet with some of the men with whom he partnered.

London.

Faith.

He ran a hand through his hair, reluctantly reflecting on the fact that the past three weeks of solitude hadn’t made a dent in how much he missed his wife. Lately, he’d found himself slipping into daydreams about the way things could have been. Staring at the leather couch near the fire, he imagined Faith curled in a corner, twirling a strand of her golden hair, occasionally glancing up from the book she read to find his eyes with hers, smiling softly whenever she did.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember she’d been untrue. Other times it was all he could do to forget.

A discreet knock on the study door interrupted his reverie. “Come,” he called, reaching for the pen he’d thrown down.

Desmond’s head appeared. “My lord, the Earl of Seth has arrived.”

Gareth grimaced. A visit from his dour elder brother was the last thing he needed. “Show him in, please, Desmond.”

The old man glowered. “He was quite unannounced, my lord.”

Gareth raised his brows at the crotchety servant. “I trust you’ll manage to adjust to the unexpected event. Show my brother in, please.”

Desmond’s head disappeared, but his grumbling carried back up the hall and through the door he’d left ajar. A moment later, Jonathon stepped into the room. Gareth stood but didn’t step from behind his desk.

“Afternoon, Jon. Your trip was uneventful, I hope?”

“I’ve no complaints.” Jon seated himself in one of the chairs facing Gareth’s desk. He glanced at the pile of papers and correspondence. “Business is good?”

Gareth sat down and leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and looked at Jon over the tips. “You came all the way from London to see if business is going well?”

“It seemed a good place to begin.”

Gareth smiled slightly. “Business is fine. I’m going to be needing a secretary.”

“And the renovations?”

“Complete. Would you like a tour?”

“Perhaps later.”

“Mm. Then I have that to look forward to.”

The men lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and the ticking clock became once more the dominant sound in the room.

Jon cleared his throat. “Would you like to know why I’ve come?

“Not particularly.”

Jon scowled. “I came to talk to you about your wife.”

Gareth gave a wry laugh, picked up his pen, and straightened the papers in front of him. “Then you’ve wasted your time.”

“At the very least you’ll need an heir.”

“I have an heir.”

“Oh?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you had one tucked away.”

“So typical.” Gareth gave his half brother a look of derision. “You automatically assume I’m referring to some illegitimate child, when in reality, I meantyour little Geoffrey.”

“What else would you expect me to think?”

“That’s my point. It’s precisely what I’d expect you to think. Sad, is it not?”

“I didn’t come here to argue, Gareth.”

“No. I’m sure you did not. However, the topic you came to discuss is closed.” Gareth tapped his fountain pen against his forefinger. “I have work to do. Will you be staying?”

Jon nodded tightly.

Gareth rang for Desmond, who appeared so quickly that it was obvious he’d been listening. “Have Mrs. MacAvoy prepare a room for Lord Seth. And inform Cook we have a guest for dinner.” He nodded at his brother, effectively dismissing him. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Dinner was an uncomfortable, quiet affair. Both men ate in near silence, the clinking sounds of their utensils against their plates oddly loud in the long, high-ceilinged dining room. Twice Jon spoke, both times to compliment Gareth on his cook, to which the marquess responded in short, polite sentences.

Inside, however, Gareth was seething. He’d accomplished nothing the rest of the afternoon and had finally given up working. He’d thought a long, bruising ride on Calypso might help, but even in that he was thwarted. The rhythm of the stallion’s galloping hoofbeats both lulled and relaxed him, and the second he succumbed to them, images of Faith laughing, her golden hair tossed by the wind, invaded his mind. Frustrated, he’d turned for home.

By the time he’d cleaned up and descended to the dining room for dinner, his frustration had blossomed into fury—at himself for his inability to control his own thoughts when it came to his wife, and at Jon for invading his solitude. Most of all, he was angry because he could no longer deny the fact that he wanted to know what his brother had come to tell him.

When the last course had been served and cleared, Gareth cleared his throat. “Brandy?”

Jon nodded and rose. The two men left the dining room and crossed the corridor to the study. Gareth poured his brother a generous snifter and himself a glass of port. They sat in a pair of dark, comfortable club chairs.

After a moment’s silence, Gareth spoke. “Tell me.”

Jon carefully hid his relief that his brother was finally taking an interest. “There’s speculation,” he said.

“There’s always speculation. It will pass.”

Jon lit a cheroot and inhaled, then blew out the smoke rather grimly. “I agree. But not before they rip Faith to shreds.”

The port was doing nothing to ease Gareth’s tension. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you expect me to do something about that?”

Jon gave him a withering look. “She’s family. You married her. Yes, I expect you to do something about it.” He waited, watching his brother.

Strumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Gareth thought about everything. He thought about the vandalism, which had stopped with Faith’s departure. He thought about her reaction when he’d accused her of having a lover, and knew a twinge of regret. She’d been shocked, stunned. His mind had so easily leapt to the conclusion that she had a lover, he’d tried and convicted her with virtually no real evidence. Had he been mistaken?

“She may not allow me,” he murmured.

Jon watched the emotions play across his brother’s face and wisely pressed his advantage. “They think you’ve abandoned her, so right now she’s merely an object of pity. I don’t think she’s even aware of it yet.”

Pain slashed Gareth’s features, but he said nothing. His brother sighed.

“It’s only a matter of time before she’s viewed as fair game by the more unscrupulous members of Society. She’s not equipped to handle that, Gareth. One misstep, even with Grace and Amanda standing by, and her reputation will be in tatters. She needs you, Gareth, whether she’ll allow it or not.”

“I don’t think
need
is the correct term,” Gareth replied, “but I understand what you’re saying.” He tossed back the remainder of his port and stood. “I’d rather conduct interviews for a secretary in London in any case. I’ll be ready to leave in the morning.” He set his glass on the mantel with a firm thud and strode from the room.

Jon watched him go, pensive. He was suddenly very,
very
happy Amanda’s maiden name was not Ackerly.

Thirty-one

A
fternoon, Lady Seth.”

Surprised, Amanda looked up from the letter she was writing, a delighted smile brightening her face. “Gareth! Jon told me you’d come to London to look for a secretary.”
And for your wife,
she added silently.

“Yes. I’m to begin conducting interviews in the morning.” He stepped into the drawing room and looked around. None of the furniture looked as if it would be remotely comfortable for a man of his size, so he selected a love seat that appeared fairly substantial and sat down, feeling rather like a great, hulking beast gingerly picking his way through a china shop.

“Well, I’m happy you’re here.” Amanda looked at him curiously but said no more, sensing instinctively that her brother-in-law had something specific to discuss and was searching for the best way to begin. She was not disappointed.

“I’d like to talk to you about Faith.”

Amanda tilted her head and smiled. “What about her?”

“Do you see her often?”

Amanda hesitated, torn between a wish to bring her friend and her brother-in-law back together and loyalty to Faith, who had expressly stated she did not wish to have anything to do with her husband. “I see her a few times a week,” she finally admitted.

“Ah.” Gareth nodded. He glanced around the room a moment and looked again at his sister-in-law. “Is she…doing well?” He kept his voice even, and his eyes were inscrutable.

Amanda gave him an assessing look, wondering again what had happened in their short marriage to bring Gareth and Faith to this point. Faith had been provokingly reticent, saying only that they were “unsuited.” It did not appear Gareth would be any more forthcoming. Unless…Amanda bit her lip, hiding a smile as an idea dawned. Unless he was provoked.

“Faith,” began Amanda, her tone light, “is having a lovely visit with her sister. It was really very kind of you to understand how terribly bored she was out in the country with only you for company.”

Gareth raised a brow. “Bored? That’s what she said? That she was bored at Rothmere?”

Amanda barely kept her face composed. “Well, I don’t know that she used those precise words. I think I might have inferred that she was bored when she said that you were ‘dour and not at all disposed to amusement.’ Which,” she added pointedly, “I found difficult to reconcile…until now. You’ve not even smiled at me once since you arrived!" She watched Gareth carefully.

His expression remained neutral, though he felt an unexpected twinge of pain at the way Faith had described him to Amanda. “Yes. Well. I was rather consumed with completing the renovations,” he said. Clearing his throat, he added, “I imagine she has attended social events with you?” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Yes, of course she has,” Amanda replied, watching as Gareth began strumming the fingers of his right hand on his thigh. “And she’s just as popular as ever, of course.” She beamed. “You’d really be so proud of her. Quite the sought-after dance partner, our Faith.”

His fingers abruptly stopped their movement, and Amanda looked up to find her brother-in-law staring at her intently. She hastily averted her eyes.

Gareth noted the guilty look on her face and wondered what she was hiding. “I stopped by the Caldwell town house on my way here. I was informed that they weren’t home.”

“No. They went to Pelthamshire for a few days. I think they plan to return this evening.” Amanda said a quick little prayer that Faith had changed her mind about staying in the village and was planning to return with Grace and Trevor. “We are to meet them at the Rutherfords’ ball. Care to join us?”

A ball. Gareth almost grimaced. Coming face-to-face with his wife under the watchful eyes of Society did not appeal for a number of reasons, but he did have to admire the pragmatic aspects. She’d be far less likely to simply ignore him if they were surrounded by hundreds of people. The ever-correct Marchioness of Roth could be counted upon to put her best face forward in all circumstances.

Yes. The more he considered it, the more he realized going to the ball was the better option. An announced visit to her sister’s home could be avoided; an unexpected meeting at a public event would put her squarely into his hands. His mind made up, Gareth thanked his sister-in-law for the invitation and agreed to attend, then took his leave.

The problem with his wife handled for the moment, at least in his mind, Gareth spent the ride back to his town house reading through the letters of recommendation he’d received about the men he would interview in the morning to fill the position of his secretary. The candidates all seemed reasonably qualified. He’d already dismissed out of hand any letter glowing with effusive praise for the applicant, concentrating instead on those which outlined in spare, precise words competence and organization. He wanted someone brisk and efficient. Not someone likeable.

The carriage slowed as it approached his home. Gareth tucked the letters under his arm and prepared to disembark, pondering this recent gravitation toward simplicity. Certainly it was at odds with the fun-loving prankster he’d been less than two years ago. He nodded at the footman, who opened the door and put down the steps, and walked slowly inside.

The tree he’d given to Faith in lieu of flowers stood in the foyer, mocking him, and he realized his life change had begun with his wife long before he’d even imagined she might be his; the blistering setdown she’d delivered at her sister’s wedding had stuck with him. The inheritance had followed shortly thereafter, and all its responsibilities. He had been forced to mature.

He reached out and touched one of the tree’s carefully manicured branches, still adorned with the silly ribbons he’d ordered. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he had become a shade
too
serious.

Thirty-two

A
s it turned out, Gareth found it ridiculously easy to slip into a good mood. Amanda’s lighthearted, easy banter was soothing, her laughter infectious. And though Jon remained as distant as ever, Gareth felt more relaxed than he’d been in months.

He should have known better.

Not ten minutes after they arrived, Lady Cleo Egerton bore down on him like a ship at full sail, the ever-present feather in her garish turban bobbing along helplessly above. Gareth felt his smile falter as he watched her approach, keeping one eye on the ebony cane she had been known to wield without mercy. He opened his mouth to offer her a carefully polite greeting, but she never gave him a chance.

“You.” The single word was an undeniable accusation.

Gareth inclined his head deferentially. “My lady.”

Cleo clicked her tongue, disappointment etched across her lined face. “I had high hopes for you after Huntwick so thoroughly botched things with Grace.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call a successful marriage botched.’”

She pounced triumphantly. “So what would you call an
un
successful marriage?” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a scathing look, the undeniable reference to his own marriage unspoken.

His eyes turned cold. “Typical,” he responded, refusing to take the bait.

Cleo remained undaunted. She leaned closer and squinted into his eyes, then nodded. “You’ve decided to do something about this silly arrangement, I see.” She tucked her cane under her arm and reached up to straighten her turban. “Good.”

Amanda watched the entire exchange with amusement, keeping a careful eye on Gareth. The change in her brother-in-law’s demeanor now from that during their conversation in the early afternoon hadn’t escaped her notice. It was clear he’d been thinking things through, a character trait he’d had for years. Whatever his plan, it wouldn’t involve rash or thoughtless behavior.

“The Earl and Countess of Huntwick!”

At the shouted announcement from the butler at the top of the stairs, Amanda looked away from her brother-in-law and held her breath as Trevor and Grace appeared. They paused and began descending. She let out her breath a moment later when Faith stepped into view.

“The Marchioness of Roth!”

Gareth felt a sense of calm envelop him, a feeling that began in the center of his chest and spread outward, as he watched his wife begin her poised descent. His eyes softened to a warm chocolate, and he took an inadvertent step in the direction of the stairs before he realized he had done so. Stopping, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and caught Amanda’s eye. Her expression was sympathetic.

Slightly annoyed with himself, Gareth looked back at the entrance. Faith had gained the ballroom floor and joined her sister and brother-in-law in greeting guests nearest the stairs.

Trevor’s eyes swept the room and widened in surprise when they landed on Gareth. He inclined his head toward Faith and Grace, then nodded imperceptibly when Gareth shook his head, tacitly agreeing that they were not to be told he was here yet. Not that it could be kept from them for long.

Across the room, Horatio Grimsby had also seen Faith’s entrance, and quite aware of her husband’s presence, was carefully watching everything. He’d noted the arrival of the Marquess of Roth with a mixture of irritation and dismay. That the man had come to collect his wife stood to reason. No man, especially not one of such power and standing, enjoyed the world speculating about his private affairs…and Faith hadn’t exactly been cautious in exhibiting how she felt about him. No, the more Horatio thought about it, the more he realized he was going to have to find an opportunity to warn Faith about the need for her to conceal her feelings for him. The last thing he needed was to be maneuvered into a situation that required him to be up before dawn, facing her husband with pistols at twenty paces.

His eyes darted between the two groups, gauging his moment. It came when the Earl of Huntwick bowed over his wife’s hand with an affectionate smile and took his leave of the sisters. Horatio watched the earl make his way through the crowd toward Gareth, then turned his attention back to Grace and Faith. They had linked arms and were strolling in the opposite direction. Faith appeared not to have noticed her husband was in attendance.

Quickly, Horatio moved to intercept the pair, catching the ladies just as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “Evening, Lady Roth, Lady Huntwick.” He pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and bowed slightly.

Faith smiled at him. “Good evening, Lord Jameson. I trust you’re enjoying the ball?”

Grace smiled at Lord Jameson, too, but it was a more distant, polite smile. She’d meant to talk to Faith about the fact that Horatio’s attentions were becoming a shade too marked, but hadn’t had a chance to speak to her alone during their short stay in Pelthamshire, and it was certainly not a conversation she wished to have in front of Trevor. Faith had no idea she was being anything except friendly to a man who didn’t seem to enjoy much kindness from others. Jameson, in Grace’s opinion, was taking advantage of her sister’s gentle charity.

“Might I trouble you for a dance, Lady Roth?”

Faith kept a smile on her face while searching desperately for an excuse. None surfaced, however, so she resigned herself to a single whirl in the cause of duty. “Thank you,” she said graciously. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

Grace rolled her eyes and looked around the room for someone to talk with while her sister danced. She nodded at several acquaintances and broke into a genuine smile when she saw Amanda Lloyd standing with a group near Aunt Cleo. But when she looked to Amanda’s right, she sucked in her breath and reached back blindly for Faith’s arm, unable to take her eyes off the group across the room.

“Faith!” she hissed, then repeated herself in a more urgent tone.

“Pardon me,” said her sister to Horatio and changed the focus of her attention. “What in the world?”

Grace nudged her in the ribs with an elbow and jerked her head in the direction she wanted Faith to look. Faith followed her sister’s gaze.

To someone who did not know her well, it would not have appeared that Faith had any reaction to seeing her husband in London when she’d thought him safely tucked away in the country. Grace, however, knew her sister quite well. She recognized the nearly invisible tightening of her lips, the sudden chill perfection of her posture. Faith was almost regally incensed. And it didn’t help that Gareth was looking at her at the precise moment she saw him. He didn’t move, didn’t look away. He simply waited to see what Faith would do.

Instead of so much as nodding to acknowledge his presence, Faith smiled tightly, then leaned down to whisper something to her sister. Then, of all things, she laid her hand on the arm of the Earl of Jameson and strolled out onto the dance floor with him.

Gareth watched his wife and her dance partner begin, then turned away. It wasn’t until Faith’s sister walked up and greeted him that he was able to acknowledge the fact that he was coldly furious. He nodded tightly at her warm hello and looked for his wife on the dance floor again. She was smiling at Horatio, engaged in an animated conversation with him while they danced, and she didn’t spare a single glance in his direction. He continued watching until the waltz drew to a close and his treacherous wife and Jameson walked off the floor together. It seemed he had found Faith’s lover.

“Excuse me,” Gareth said, his voice clipped. “I’m going to step outside for some air.”

The group watched him go. Trevor and Jon exchanged looks over their wives’ heads, silently agreeing that it wasn’t necessary to get involved. Grace and Amanda weren’t sure what to think.

“Honestly, Grace, how
could
she?” Amanda asked in a whisper.

Grace shook her head. “I think there is a great deal we don’t know. We need to find a way to get them together, to make them interact.”

Amanda shook her head. “Gareth will leave first. He’s not just angry with her; he’s hurt about something, too. He hasn’t told me what it is, but there’s so much more behind the way he’s acting than just a spat between a husband and wife who don’t know one another very well.”

“She loves him,” promised Grace quietly.

“And he loves her,” agreed Amanda.

The pair glanced at Faith, who had finished her dance with Horatio and was now standing alone, looking somehow utterly lost in the midst of the crush of people surrounding her.

“Terrace?” Grace looked determined.

“Terrace,” Amanda agreed, and off they went without a word to their husbands.

The men watched them go. “This can’t be good,” said Trevor. He raised an eyebrow and kept an eye on his wife’s distinctive gold-red hair as she made her way, with Amanda, toward Faith. Jon shook his head. The women reached their destination, and each linked an arm through Faith’s, herding her inexorably toward their destination.

“Terrace?” Jon’s voice was grim.

Trevor nodded. “Terrace. Definitely,” he replied.

“But I just
got
here,” protested Faith with a little laugh. “I really don’t need fresh air yet.”

“You look flushed after your dance,” said Grace, decisively.

“Yes,” agreed Amanda. “A bit of night air will be just the thing to put the roses back into your cheeks.”

Faith raised an eyebrow. “I’m flushed
and
pale?”

“Um, w-well,” stammered Amanda. “You have a pallor. Beneath the…um…flush.” She looked at Grace for help.

Grace snorted. “You’re not very good at this.”

Faith stopped abruptly, looking back and forth between her friend and sister. “Is Gareth out on the terrace?”

The conspirators looked at one another guiltily but said nothing.

“I’m not going out there. I have no intention of seeing him tonight…or on any other night, for that matter.” Faith pulled her arms from theirs and turned to walk away, only to find her path blocked by Trevor and Jon. “Oh, for goodness’ sake! You’re in on it, too?” She crossed her arms and looked around, noting the interested stares from the other ball attendees. “We’re beginning to attract attention.”

“All the more reason to go out on the terrace,” said Grace with an impish smirk.

“Hush, Grace,” said Amanda and Trevor together.

“What’s on the terrace?”

Faith stiffened and whirled around at her husband’s voice. She raked the rest of the group with a contemptuous glare and lifted her chin. “Fresh air, my lord,” she answered. “I am, apparently, rather flushed and in need of it. Will you excuse me, please?” She executed a little half curtsy, narrowed her eyes at her sister, and stepped around the group to escape through the French doors.

Grace moved to follow, but Gareth caught her arm. “I’ll go. This needs to be handled.”

He stepped outside and closed the doors behind him, muffling the sounds of the ball within. Faith wasn’t in sight. He sighed and walked down the terrace to the left, where he knew he’d find a shadowy alcove.

Faith heard the measured footsteps approaching and closed her eyes. This was not an encounter she was prepared to handle. For once in her life, she was willing to run away from a problem instead of solving it, and she meant to turn her back on this one forever. She did not intend to ever again allow herself to feel the sort of pain she’d felt after Gareth accused her of having a lover.

“Faith.”

She opened her eyes and sighed, but did not look at him. She stared instead out into the darkness. “Yes, my lord?”

God, she was beautiful. He cleared his throat awkwardly, wincing inside at the formal way she addressed him. “I thought perhaps we could begin again.”

Faith shook her head a little and looked down. “No, please,” she said, her voice low.

Gareth leaned forward, unsure he’d heard correctly. “No?”

She finally looked up at him. Her eyes were clear and calm. “No. We are continually ‘beginning again.’ I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Gareth. Your wife, your former wife, whichever. But I will not be
with
you ever again.”

He narrowed his eyes. This was not at all going as he’d planned. He’d thought to apologize, to cajole, perhaps, and to entice. He hadn’t imagined she would flatly refuse to cooperate. Or that it would make him feel so out of his depth. He gave her a hard look. “You really don’t have a choice, Faith.”

“Legally, no. I do not. But I know from what you have told me that you don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. You want nothing less than what your parents had.”

“Are you telling me you don’t love me? You’re admitting that you never can?”

Faith swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, her heart pounding. She shook her head. “I—”

“Say it!” he bit out. His eyes were a glittering, dark obsidian in this shadowy nook, and when he took a step toward her, Faith instinctively shrank back. “You have to tell me.”

Anger sparked, both with Gareth and with herself for almost cowering before him. She drew herself up to her full height and leaned forward. “I don’t love you.” Her voice, firm and sure, rang out in the stillness. “I never shall.”

Gareth stopped his advance, stared hard into her eyes. They were brimming with unshed tears, awash in pain, at odds with her harsh words. It surprised him. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe,” she returned, her voice tired. She walked forward, tried to step around him, but he stepped in front of her. “Let me go, please.”

“No.” A muscle worked in his jaw. He stared over her head into the blackness beyond the balustrade. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t love me. You are my wife, and I’m taking you home.”

She shook her head again, harder. “No. I won’t go.”

“You
will
go.” He grasped her upper arm. “Your choice: If you want to save your reputation, you can come willingly, and you can smile at me the way you smiled at your lover while you danced with him.” He watched her closely. “Or I can drag you out of here. I’ll toss you over my shoulder, if I have to. One way or the other, you’re coming home with me. Tonight.”